It's Perfect
by deanwinchesterprays
Summary: Castiel thinks back on his most treasured times with Dean. Destiel ficlet originally posted on tumblr. M for themes.


For a while, everything was perfect. Not the run of the mill, never arguing, always holding hands kind of perfect. No, that wasn't accurate, and didn't do either of them justice. But it was perfect in the way him and Dean made up – in the way Dean would smile after they'd screamed at each other, and in how they'd break out into laughs because neither of them could even remember what they had been arguing about.

It was perfect because, each time they went off on a hunt after the angel fell, Castiel would squeeze Dean's hand and would hold it just a second longer than normal. Just in case. Dean never argued.

Castiel remembers beaches. He remembers walking along the sand, talking about all the things he'd never been able to voice in heaven.

_"Dean, why do humans like the beach so much?" Castiel picked up a shell, tossing it back and forth between his fingers, studying it with intense concentration before throwing it into the water. Beaches seemed dirty – unclean and impure. There was litter everywhere, and the waves looked far too high. It made him – uncertain._

_"Because Cas," Dean laughed, his voice laced with unhidden amusement as his lips curved upwards, "It always changes, and it's a little dangerous. But – it's pretty. It's fun, and it's definitely worth the risk if you get to ride the right wave." Dean paused then, his eyes sliding over to appraise the man next to him. "Kinda reminds me of you, actually."_

_"You remind me of the stars, Dean. You were supposed to be out of reach for me – but you weren't, and you're right here, and I do have my Father to thank for that."_

_"Cas, buddy – " Dean was about to tell him to save the hallmark – about to roll his eyes and pull Castiel along to a boardwalk shop. But the hunter had hesitated, and his mouth opened with no sound coming out, before he stepped in closer and pulled the fallen angel into his chest. "I thank him, too."_

Castiel remembered faith. He remembered getting the phone call on his cell phone, remembered praying for everything to be a dream, a nightmare even, as his foot jammed on the gas and he was bombarded with recollections of being taught to drive.

_"No, like this – you have to stop slower so that it doesn't jerk the car." Dean was always more patient than Castiel had expected – and it made him a truly wonderful teacher. The problem, really, was more about how Dean would always rest his hand on Castiel's thigh, would whisper into his ear, would laugh and sing along to his really loud music. Castiel eventually did learn how to drive, without getting either of them into a car accident, and, surprisingly enough, knew all of Dean's favorite songs._

Songs – those were the hardest. Now and then ACDC would come onto the radio, and Castiel was always torn as to whether or not he should change the station.

He never did.

_"So close, no matter how far –" Dean's banging his free hand on the dashboard, steering the Impala with the other. "Come on Cas, you know this one."_

_"Couldn't be much more from the heart." Castiel grins, proud of himself, his dimples emgraving themselves into his cheeks while his face flushes red under Dean's glance of approval. "You're good, you know," Dean whispers, and Castiel feels that heat building up again, the heat he and Dean had just taken care of that morning._

_"You're just trying to spare my feelings, Dean."_

_At that, the hunter chuckles, his breath hot against the cool air rushing in from the windows. "Nah – I need you. You know that."_

_There's a moment where Castiel opens his mouth, determined to reply, only to find his lips pressing back together again. He, in all honesty, had nothing to add._

Life was, for a time, forgiving. Castiel stayed with Dean at the hospital, his lips always so close to the hunter's ear that no one else could ever understand what they were saying. And they would share in secret smiles, secret glances and looks, and Castiel thought that, maybe, Dean was getting stronger. But Castiel – he remembers everything.

_"I can't do it, Cas." Dean's voice is feeble and Castiel's lips are at the corner of his neck, because he's desperate not to let any space between them. "Yes you can, Dean." He's not sure who he's reassuring, as he moves his finger's to slide over Dean's face. "Yes you can, I know it. One accident. That's all it was. A silly hunting accident. You are going to be fine, Dean."_

_There's blood on his trench coat, because Dean's coughing again, and the liquid is seeping through his teeth. "I'm not strong enough."_

_There's a clenching in Castiel's chest – a sinking feeling as he looks up, expecting to see some sort of goofy grin, and is instead met with pale white pain – and resignation._

_"No, Dean – Dean no, I've got you – you can't – Dean, you can't." Castiel slides both palms up, to grip the hunter's cheeks, resting his forehead against the weakening man. There's no grace to pull from - no fuel deep in his soul that can fix this. "I fell – I fell for you, in every way possible – I – Dean, please." Castiel doesn't know when the jewels of moisture found their way from his eyes to his face – and he doesn't know how Dean finds the strength to tangle a fist in his hair. "Please," he whispers, his lips against the hunter's, as if he can blowhis own life force into those bloody parted lips._

_"I need you," Dean smiles, and his lips are firm, desperate even, as the grip of his fist gets a bit stronger. It lasts a few moments before Dean's lips go taut, and Castiel knows that Dean is gone, is not really there – but he can't remove his forehead from the cold figure beneath him, afraid now, to be on his own._

_"Dean – Dean please, I –"Cas' voice breaks, because he's trying so hard not to scream at the nurses, who are trying to pry him off the man beneath him. "I need you too."_

For a while, everything was perfect; the kind of perfect that couples often try and dream of – the kind that novels and silly romantic comedies could not even begin to fathom. And yes – Dean and himself – they were filled to the brim with imperfections. An angel gone wrong bound to a tortured soul.

But, Castiel supposed, as his hand tightened around the bouquet of flowers, and as he knelt down next to the stone marking that it had been a full year since Dean left, maybe the reason it was perfect was because it was full of imperfections.


End file.
